


the weapons contractor and the soldier: just another (dysfunctional) quirky love story

by failwolfhale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is a United States Marine, Derek is surly as always, F/M, Gen, M/M, So are Allison and Erica, Stiles is a genius who owns his own military weapons manufacturing company, and he co-designs all of his weapons with Lydia, he contracts out to the military
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failwolfhale/pseuds/failwolfhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Stiles is a weapons designer and military weapons contractor, Derek is a surly marine, and Stiles makes a trip to Afghanistan to train some soldiers with his new weapons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating:** T for violence and language
> 
> **Word Count:** 3,505
> 
> **Chapter:** 1/3+ 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I’m only 16 years old, and while there’s nothing that I want more than to join the US Marine Corps, I don’t know a whole shit ton about it. The weapons mentioned in this fic were thought of in my own head and if they bear any resemblance to anything real it was unintentional, please don’t send Homeland Security after me or any of the other alphabets. Please excuse any mistakes regarding military specifics, again, I’m only sixteen and there’s only so much information to be gleaned from the internet. 
> 
> ETA: Also, I have no idea about actual locations and such. I used google maps to find Day Mirdad on the map and don't know exactly where Marine bases/camps are located in Afghanistan, so please forgive me. :3 (if you know anything of this, PLEASE feel free to let me know, it would be much appreciated.)

“Ugghh, I hate these things,” Stiles grumbled, his voice vibrating with the rocking motion of the C-130, “As many times as I’ve ridden in them, I never get used to it.”

“Well, we’ll be landing soon, dude!” Scott called over the din of noise in the cargo hold.

It wasn’t really a plane cabin, not in the sense of a cushioned seat with a belt and fold-down tray with a pretty stewardess that offered peanuts and beer out of a shiny silver cart. It was a cavernous space filled with huge crates and canvass covered benches against the walls, with seatbelts and cargo nets. Stiles’ teeth chattered in his mouth from the vibrating and then he felt the change in cabin pressure that meant they were starting their decent into Kabul where they’d then take a long ride to the middle of nowhere, also known as Day Mirdad.

 

They landed in a large airstrip and Stiles was rushed to his armored car, running fifty feet from the plane by his body guards, then had to wait as the large demonstration crates were loaded onto other bigger vehicles that would follow closely behind them, protected on their journey. Stiles pulled out his satellite phone to text Boyd, asking how things were going without him.

**Sender:** Boyd  
 **To:** Stiles - 23:57  
 _everything’s fine on the home front. Focus on what you’re doing there. It’s more important._

**Sender:** Stiles  
 **To:** Boyd - 23:58  
 _yea, yea, make sure Jackson and Isaac don’t get into anymore fights. I don’t need any more accidental explosions in the ballistics lab, understand?_

**Sender:** Boyd  
 **To:** Stiles - 00:01  
 _Aye, aye, captain, anything else?_

**Sender:** Stiles  
 **To:** Boyd - 00:02  
 _yea…tell Lydia she’s looking gorgeous today._

**Sender:** Boyd  
 **To:** Stiles - 00:05  
 _she says stop being a creep from the other side of the world and “shouldn’t he be sleeping? He’s got a weapons demonstration in Day Mirdad tomorrow morning!”_

**Sender:** Stiles  
 **To:** Boyd - 00:08  
 _awe, how sweet, she’s worried about me even from California. <3 Whatever, I’m going to sleep on the car ride. Talk to you later. You’d better let me know if they screw anything up._

**Sender:** Boyd  
 **To:** Stiles - 00:11  
 _night, boss._

—-

“Rise and shine, it’s time to get moving,” Sergeant Mahealani stated, pulling Scott’s and Stiles’ blankets from their bodies.

“Give it back!” Scott whined while Stiles rolled onto his back to stretch, shaking his head at his best friend.

“No, can do, cupcake. Get your ass out of bed; breakfast in thirty.” The sergeant turned on his heel and disappeared out of the dusty tent.

Stiles threw his feet over the edge of the cot and placed them on the canvas floor. “I hate desert heat,” he stated dryly as he stood up and gathered his clothes and sweat dripped down his temples and neck.

“I hate the night cold,” Scott remarked as he did the same.

They made their way to the latrines, showering quickly but still not exactly able to get all the dust off their skin or out of their hair. They dressed similarly in khaki trousers and button down shirts. Scott’s white shirt contrasted nicely against his dark Hispanic skin while Stiles’ pale blue one brought out the golden tones in his eyes. They bickered like an old married couple, trying to straighten each other’s ties before rolling their eyes and giving up, lacing up their shoes and going to the mess hall. The small structure was filled with soldiers, most of them huge and burly, making Stiles and Scott feel smaller than they actually were. They got their trays of food and made their way over to Sergeant Mahealani who waved them over.

“You finally woke up,” the sergeant commented with a smile.

“Mhmm, this food is terrible,” Scott muttered, shoving dry pancakes and burnt bacon into his mouth.

“Your tax dollars at work, sweetheart,” sergeant replied, “It’s better than what some places get.”

Stiles stuffed his mouth with runny eggs and a hard bagel, washing it down with watery orange juice before leaning back and looking around the room. There were a handful of women scattered around the room among the large numbers of men, and several would turn around in their seats to stare at Stiles and Scott before going back to their food.

“PFC Argent will be driving you to the demonstration site,” Sergeant Mahealani informed them as they stood up and left the small dining structure.

“Thanks, Serge,” Stiles grinned, looking around at the clusters of sand colored tents surrounding them.

“Call me Danny.”

“Thanks, Danny,” Stiles repeated.

Just then an armored car pulled up in front of them and a pretty young woman stepped out of the driver’s seat, eyes set straight as she stood at attention in front of them. She had a sharp jaw line, deep brown eyes and feather duster eyelashes. Stiles turned to Scott to give him an approving look but found his best friend already ogling the woman.

“At ease, Private,” Danny said and the girl’s feet broke apart in a less rigid stance.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she replied respectfully.

“Mr. Stillinski, Mr. McCall, this is Private First Class Allison Argent. PFC Argent, these are the men who will be doing the weapons demonstration this morning. You’re to pick up Private Reyes on the way out and stay with them while they set up. Six marines have been there since dawn to secure the area and stand guard. If anything happens, you bring these men back immediately, understand?” Danny told her, standing straight up and eyeing her.

“Yes, Sergeant,” PFC Argent agreed, her heels snapping together.

“Get a move on then,” Danny urged and PFC Argent opened the back door dutifully, motioning Scott and Stiles into the back seats.

“This car is safe against gunshots and some low-grade IEDs. But if anything happens, don’t screw around. Just get the hell out of there. Understand? The higher ups will have my ass if anything happens to you guys,” Danny told them and then shut the door when they nodded, slapping the side as it pulled away.

They picked up Private Reyes on the way who was another pretty young woman with a deep scowl and angry brown eyes and flawless cream skin turned dark under the desert sun. The drive to the demonstration site wasn’t long and Stiles filled it with chatter, talking to Scott and then turning the attention on the two women in the front seats. PFC Argent told them to call her Allison and loosened up considerably, giggling at Scott and batting her eyelashes. Private Reyes told them to just call her Reyes and didn’t answer any questions except with grunts and glares.

The demonstration site was little more than a huge open space with high ridges in a semicircle around them about two miles out. Six huge marine guards were waiting there for them, the large crates waiting to be opened.

Stiles hopped out immediately like a little boy running to a candy shop; he was always like that when dealing with weapons, especially the ones he created with his own mind and got to show off to people. One of the guards held out two crowbars to him and Scott who took them happily, prying open the crates. They broke apart the casings, recruiting a few of the guards to help them place the huge missile launchers in precise positions and the other weapons they’d brought. Scott pulled out the laptop to make sure the video tapes were recording in the distance they’d asked to be set up.

They were finishing the last of the set ups when the trucks of marines and army men pulled up, soldiers piling out of them like clowns out of those tiny little clown cars. Scott instructed them where to stand as Stiles made the final adjustments and then they got started.

Stiles started with the simplest ones first, directing attention to their new line of machine guns and sniper rifles. They asked for volunteers and showed them the new features, new scopes, new lasers. They demonstrated their grenades that came in smaller and larger sizes, depending on their targets; the flash grenades that were more or less potent depending on the room size and how many people they were trying to stun. And then they moved onto the more fun stuff that was Stiles’ favorite to demonstrate - the missile launchers and his one secret weapon. He grew more and more animated as he spoke, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a huge grin on his face.

“Okay, guys, now this…oh, _this_ is my baby,” Stiles crooned, moving over to the last weapon set up that was pointing towards the ridges as some of the soldiers snickered. “Laugh all you want, but I created this baby with a good, devious minded friend of mine, Lydia Martin.”

“A chick made that? What kind does it launch? Fluffy bunnies?” one of the guys towards the front called, rolling his eyes. Luckily Reyes took care of that quickly, glowering at him and stomping hard on his toes that made him utter a quick apology. Stiles sent her a thankful smile but she rolled his eyes so he continued.

“No, this does not launch bunnies. If you met my Lydia, you’d know it was something much, _much_ worse than bunnies. This is what it launches.” Stiles moved around the machine to slide one of the bullets from its place, holding it up with two fingers over his head. It was a small thing, weighing less than an ounce and he saw several of the soldiers roll their eyes, disregarding his work. Scott and Stiles shared a devious look as Stiles replaced it before launching into a detailed explanation of the materials used to build it, its special gunpowder and explosives mixture, etc.

“Now, I know this is just a measly little bullet, but it’s a bullet that was created to be shot at high velocity and then explode upon contact with the target,” Stiles said, and turned to Scott. “Scott, would you put up the screen please?”

Scott moved quickly, setting up the medium sized screen so that the group could all see it before he went to the laptop that had been connected to a small projector and bringing up the image of several adult male sized dummies clutching smaller child and female sized dummies.

“We had these dummies set up out there,” Stiles pointed towards the ridges, “and put video cameras on them to show you how this works. There are two settings and two different kinds of bullets, on this side,” he slapped the left side of the boxy machine, “are the heat seeking bullets, and on the other are the regular bullets. If you’re dealing with a hostage situation you can put in a simple code, a high res camera up here will lock onto their location and then you can choose the targets.”

Stiles moved around to the small code pad and screen, moving his fingers quickly while the dummy-insurgents on the screen had small green boxes around their faces. Stiles pressed a button and the bullets were shot. He turned to watch the soldiers as they watched the bullets shoot out of vision only to appear on screen as they hit only the dummy-insurgents and not the hostages they held, straight in the foreheads. He loved seeing those awed and revered expressions on their faces as they looked back at him.

“Now, if there are no hostages, only insurgents, then you can use a different code for the heat seeking bullets, which essentially do the same thing but save you the time of having to choose the targets. The bullets will seek out any living thing within a three mile targeting distance. Scott?” Stiles turned to Scott who switched frames to a different set of dummies that were smoldering under slow burning flames.

Stiles once again moved to the key pad, entering a code before the weapon launched (with no kick-back might he add). He watched the soldiers again as they watched the bullets shoot out of sight, only to appear on-screen taking out the burning dummies. There was a smattering of awed applause as he and Scott wrapped up the demonstration.

“Each squad will have their own codes for the machines, should any questionable launchings take place and they need to trace it back. Squad leaders can find me back at base to get your codes. Scott and I will be sticking around for the next few weeks to offer training to anyone and everyone who needs it,” Stiles called happily.

The soldiers disbanded, climbing back into their vehicles to be carted back to base while more lingered, waiting for their rides to loop back around.

“You really seem to love what you do,” a voice said from behind Stiles and he turned to regard a pretty woman with sharp features and eyes the same color as the sand surrounding them.

“Do I now?” Stiles asked charmingly, leaning on one of the missile launchers he’d just powered down.

“Yes, you do,” she grinned, dimples popping up on her cheeks as she batted her eyelashes.

“Well you’d be right. I always thought about going into the military but never made it past the physicals. I’ve got bad asthma, ADHD and was born with only one kidney.” He shrugged in a way that said _eh-what-can-yah-do?_

The woman giggled. “I guess the desert’s not a real great place for you to be then, huh?”

“Not particularly,” Stiles laughed, and then coughed a bit as if to strengthen her statement. He held up a finger in apology, pulling out a small blue inhaler from his pocket, putting it back and pulling out a red one. He took a quick puff and replaced it. “Sorry, about that,” he apologized.

“No, problem,” she assured him, “I’m Stacy, Private Stacy Wilder.”

“Nice to meet you, Private,” he replied, offering a polite hand. “I’m Genim Stilinski, but you can just call me Stiles.”

“You’re…Genim Stilinski? As in Stilinski Weapons Data and Armor Technology?” she breathed in awe, her wide eyes going even wider.

Stiles laughed and put his hands in his pockets. “Yep, that’d be me,” he stated.

“But…I mean… you can’t be older than like…” she trailed off, unsure.

“I’m twenty two,” he laughed, “Graduated college at nineteen, started the business at twenty.”

“And now it’s like, a multibillion dollar company. I thought for sure you were just like, one of the techies they send out for these things,” she said.

“No, ma’am, are you kidding? This is the best part of the job! I’d choose this over sitting behind a desk.”

“That’s so awesome…so uhm, I get finished with patrol at seven. We should grab dinner together,” she suggested, sidling up closer to him so she could bat her lashes from underneath her cap.

Stiles laughed a little awkwardly and tilted his head down a little to be at her level. “I’m real flattered, ma’am, but, uh,” Stiles paused.

“He swings for a different team,” Scott supplied helpfully from where he was setting things up for the afternoon demonstration.

Stacy’s face fell in disappointment. “Oh.”

“Sorry, but if you need a gay best friend to help you pick out which fatigues to wear in the morning, come find me,” he teased, sending her a playful wink that made her laugh and walk off to meet the approaching vehicle.

“Bye, Stiles, see ya ‘round,” she called with a wave.

As she got in Stiles caught the eye of a particularly large, surly looking marine who was staring at Stiles; he had a dark smattering of facial hair over his cheekbones and chin, eyes that Stiles couldn’t decide on the color of from the distance, and a glower that made Stiles’ skin tingle.

“Dude,” Scott said, approaching Stiles and following his gaze, “He’s kinda hot.”

“Yea,” Stiles agreed, nodding to emphasize his words.

Scott wasn’t by any stretch gay, but he knew enough of Stiles’ taste in men, and was comfortable enough in his sexuality, to admit when a guy was attractive. They finished setting back up before hopping into the vehicles and letting Reyes and Allison drive them back to base for lunch.

Stiles caught the eye of the same guy from the demonstration site and flashed him a smile that caused the other man’s glare to deepen and look away. Stiles frowned and went to sit beside Scott with Allison, Reyes, Danny, and some other good men whose names he forgot almost immediately. It was a good thing that most people went by their last names, and those were written in black block letters across their chests.

The afternoon brought them back to the demonstration site with two new drivers and six different guards, and none of them liked to talk. The new group of soldiers reacted just like the rest and then they were packing up and heading back to base again. Danny showed them back to their tent and Stiles told him he could send the squad leaders in to collect their weapons codes. They’d make a signup sheet for trainings to be put out at breakfast the next day. Everyone would get a new rifle and return their old ones to be sent back to the lab and recycled for parts. Mostly the rest was just a whole lot of paperwork.

Scott and Stiles set up their Macs, putting up their wireless internet modem so they could bring up their company logs. Soldiers trickled in, gave them their service numbers and the last names of their squad members. Stiles and Scott would bring up the correct file and hand them a small square of paper with their code on it with the express instructions to “memorize the codes and burn the paper. You don’t want any insurgents to get a hold of those numbers. Those codes will activate all of the weapons, understand?” Then the soldiers would nod and disappear. It was pretty boring until the man from the first demonstration stepped up in front of Stiles, scowl still in place.

“Well, hi, there,” Stiles greeted cheerily, smiling as the man sat down in front of you, “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?” the man replied gruffly. Stiles glanced at his Velcro nameplate. Hale.

“Yes, actually, it does. I need your name, the names of your squad and your service number, please,” Stiles informed him.

“Corporal Derek Hale, squad members Stacy Wilder, Warren Price, Jeffery Walls, Tyler Bryans, Charlie Williams, Jarred Williams, Erica Reyes, Dylan Roden, Jacob Coble, Holly Wince, and Joshua Crane. Service number: three-seven-nine-zero-six-four-three,” Hale rattled off.

“Derek Hale, that’s a nice name,” Stiles grinned, typing the information into the server. Derek grunted by way of reply. “It’s a better name then Genim Stilinski, at least. My mother named me, and I have my father to blame for my last name.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You can call me Stiles though.” Derek grunted again and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “How about you smile once and speak with more civility, then I give you the codes?”

Derek’s glare faltered slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Make small talk like I’m sure you’re capable, crack a smile and I’ll give you your code,” Stiles retorted, raising an eyebrow and holding the small slip of paper out of Derek’s reach.

“You know I could probably beat that paper out of your hand right?” Derek asked, raising a single black brow. Oh, his eyes were a pale blue, like a blue watercolor painting left out to fade in the sun, Stiles noted.

“You know if you do that you’ll get your ass sent back home and probably dishonorably discharged right?” Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes.

Derek deflated a bit. “Fine, what’s up?”

Stiles grinned. “That’s better. Not much, I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“Well where are you from, Derek?” Stiles asked happily.

Derek raised a brow again. “New York, but I’m moving to California when I get back to live near my sister.”

“Oh, that’s cool! I live in California. SWDAT is near San Francisco. Tell me, Derek; is your sister as grumpy as you are?” Stiles leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his steepled fingers as he cocked his head in curiosity.

“No, Laura is…” Derek trailed off and a small smile appeared in spite of himself. “Laura is always smiling and laughing and telling jokes.”

“You miss her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Derek nodded an affirmative and resumed his usual scowl.

“Well, I suppose you’ve earned this,” Stiles stated, looking put out as he held out the small slip of paper. Derek reached out to take it but Stiles held his grip on it. “See ya around, Corporal Hale.” Stiles winked at him before releasing the paper and leaning back again, motioning the next squad leader in as Derek walked away feeling confused.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh okay. So here's this chapter. It goes a little fast but I couldn't figure out a good way to slow down and add filler, so please forgive me.

Derek hated to admit it but he was actually _impressed_ by this…this Genim Stilinski. Who even names their kid Genim? 

Here Derek was, twenty five years old and all he'd done was join the military straight out of highschool with only a Corporal ranking to show for it. He suspected it had something to do with his attitude problems. (But he had a good reason for those.) Then there was Genim "Stiles" Stilinski who graduated college at nineteen, started a weapons company at twenty and now at twenty two turned said company into a multibillion dollar corporation. It made Derek feel…inferior. Eugh. Inferior was not a feeling Derek was used to experiencing.

After that first day Stiles seemed to seek Derek out. He was there laughing with Derek's squad at meals, leaving the only space open beside himself to let Derek squeeze into. He found him on the gun range or morning runs or patrols or drills. For all Stiles talked and talked and talked he asked also. He was curious. Why did Derek join the military? Why specifically the Marine Corps? Didn't he miss his family? Did he still have parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents? How old was he? How long had he been in the corps? Why was he still only a corporal instead of a higher rank? Stiles was fascinat _ed_ and fascinat _ing_ at the same time.

But Derek would be damned if he was going to let anyone know he had started to like this guy - because Derek _I'll-Rip-Your-Throat-Out-With-My-Teeth_ Hale didn't like _anyone_ \- so he kept up the front of grunting and scowling every time Stiles came up to him with questions. He avoided Stiles like bubonic plague survivors avoided rats; got up from mealtime when Stiles sat down, left the gun range when Stiles showed up, changed directions on his morning runs.

So when Stiles told him happily that he needed to sign up for another training session with his squad Derek was annoyed.

"Why?" he demanded, "They've done just fine."

"Yes, they have done very well. But this is very complex weaponry and we can't risk too little training," Stiles replied patiently.

"We aren't idiots. We know how to point and shoot," Derek shot back.

"I wasn't implying that you were idiots, nor was I calling whether or not any of you are good shots into question. I was simply stating…"

Derek cut him off, annoyed. "You walk around here like you're so good, like you know so much more than we do because you create the weapons we use. We can handle ourselves just fine. I bet you haven't even shot a man much less killed one. You just hide away in your safe little lab in California to develop the weapons while we're all out here on the front lines doing the dirty work. Look, we're doing just fine, so why don't you run home to mommy in your safe little mansion with all your body guards."

"Derek," Stacy spoke softly, but she was ignored.

Stiles flinched as if he'd been slapped but it only served to spike his anger. "My _mother_ ," he emphasized, standing up to his full height, almost as tall as Derek, "was a highly decorated, respected, United States Navy Captain who was killed in action when I was fifteen years old because one of her squad members didn't know how to handle his weapons correctly. So excuse me if I don't want some other fifteen year old kid out there to lose a mother, or a father, or brother or sister because of something I could prevent with a little extra training. So you're free to leave, Corporal Hale, but I invite and encourage the rest of your squad to sign up for individual training later in the week."

With that Stiles turned and motioned his Jeep over with the two guards sitting in the front seat.

Derek stared after Stiles in shame, suddenly wanting the earth to swallow him up whole. Stiles had stood so close to him, voice low and dangerous, and Derek could see the hurt behind the fury that sparked in those amber eyes. He wasn't even sure what had caused him to snap so badly. Maybe it was just because Stiles was always there. The guy never went away; he was like an annoying bug. But it wasn't just that, no, he was in Derek's mind, his face behind Derek's lids. Derek hadn't felt this way about anyone since he was young and then the woman had screwed him over. So the fact that these feelings were resurfacing scared the shit out of him and the only way he knew how to deal with being scared was to get angry. Because during deployment fright only served to get people killed and you learned to turn that into anger to keep yourself alive.

"You screwed up big time," Holly told him solemnly as she passed him to get in the car.

 

Three days passed and Derek found their roles had been reversed. Suddenly it was Derek trying to seek out Stiles, and Stiles who was avoiding Derek. He didn't sit with Derek's squad at mealtimes anymore. He skipped out on his morning runs and rarely came out of his tent except for training. Derek decided to sign up for individual training in the hopes of getting some time with Stiles, not knowing that Stiles would look at the list and divide it up between himself and Scott, passing Derek right along for his best friend to deal with. Derek was getting frustrated and he didn't know what else to do.

Stiles was sitting in his tent with Scott one evening discussing their plans for the final three days in which they would travel with a platoon out of their safe base camp. Mostly they'd just be practicing more real life situations instead of just having everyone shoot at stationary targets.

"Okay, so I'll be going with the first group," Stiles told Scott when there was the sound of a throat clearing from the other side of the canvass door flap.

"Permission to enter?"

Stiles froze at the voice but before he could deny permission Scott was calling "Permission granted!" like a little kid playing soldier. The flap moved out of the way and Derek stood there with his stupid attractive face and stupid smile and stupid blue eyes and stupid fatigues that stretched just so across the broad expanse of stupidly wide shoulders. Scott's eyes went wide as he looked between the two.

"Uhm, I, ah, I told Allison I would meet her…somewhere that's not here," he muttered and the traitor ducked behind Derek, out the flap.

"Is there something I can do for you, Corporal?" Stiles asked formally, turning his gaze back to his computer screen.

"Permission to speak freely?" Derek inquired, standing awkwardly.

"Don't you always? I'm not your superior, Corporal. You don't need my permission." Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he scrolled through some weapons blueprints Lydia had set him.

"I wanted to apologize, for my behavior," Derek said softly, sitting in one of the chairs awkwardly.

"Your apology is accepted. Is there anything else you needed?" The young weapons designer couldn't make himself look up because he knew he'd crack and he only had a few days left here anyways. There was no point in letting himself have the chance to fall any further for this surly, grumpy, angry soldier who he wasn't even sure was gay or even bi.

"Uh," Derek hesitated. He wasn't sure what he had expected but it definitely included more talking and less…ignoring. "No, I suppose not…"

"Thank you for coming by, but I've got a lot of work to do so if you wouldn't mind." Stiles made a vague motion that was clearly a dismissal.

"Uh, okay. I'll see you tomorrow I guess…" Derek frowned but got up, turned and walked back out.

 

The next morning came with decent cloud coverage and the sun wasn't even up yet. Stiles dressed appropriately for the day in cargo pants tucked into sand colored combat boots and a plain hunter green cotton tshirt. He dragged himself into breakfast with Scott, ignoring the now familiar tingle of someone staring at him. He knew who that someone was.

He looked into his cup of coffee tiredly. He couldn't wait to go "hide back in his safe little mansion" with his gourmet coffee that didn't taste like the grounds had been used eight times and brewed with the water used to wash out their clothes. He also couldn't wait to get his hands on some PopTarts.

Colonel Bourne called the tent to order and invited Stiles and Scott to stand up.

"Alright, marines, if you were assigned to the first group please follow Mr. Stilinski here to the vehicles. You'll be leaving at oh-five-forty-five. If you were assigned to the second group you will be following Mr. McCall to leave at oh-six-hundred. PFC Argent, where are you?" Allison stood up immediately at attention. "Please see to it that Misters McCall and Stilinski are fitted with protective gear before we leave."

He dismissed everyone and Allison grinned as she approached Stiles and Scott. "Follow me, I'll help you with vests and helmets," she told them, leading them out of the tent to another a few spaces down.

"Thanks, Allison," Scott said dreamily as she helped him Velcro the Kevlar armor and snap the helmet underneath his chin.

"You know Scott here is currently helping me design some new vests and helmets," Stiles stated conversationally, picking up his usual role as Scott's wingman.

"Really?" Allison's eyes lit up as she looked at Scott. "That's super awesome."

"It's no big deal really. We're just experimenting with some state of the art material that could better protect against mortar attacks and grenades and such. First we experimented with…" Stiles tuned out Scott's voice and walked back out to where the large Jeeps were waiting for them.

He frowned when he saw that Derek's squad had been assigned to his group but didn't say anything. Stiles slid his sunglasses over his eyes; the reflective surface would hide the emotion in his eyes that was always so easy to read. His mother used to call him her open book.

He stepped up to address his men, clearing his throat until he had everyone's attention as Scott rolled his eyes him.

" _Iron will melt, but it will writhe inside of itself! All these years, all I've known is darkness. But I have never seen a brighter light than when my eyes just opened. And I know that light burns in all of you! Those embers must turn to flame. Iron into sword! I will become your weapon! Forged with a fierce fire that I know is in your hearts! For I have seen what she sees, I know what she knows. I can kill her. And I'd rather die today than live another day of this death! And who will ride with me? Who will be my brother?_ " Stiles called in an awful British accent, raising his fist.

"Is that the speech…?" Holly whispered questioningly, leaning over to Derek as her voice trailed off.

"Yep," he nodded in agreement, a tiny smile on his face.

Everyone gave hearty chuckles but rose their fists in the air, calling out a chorus of "I"s before they all loaded up. Stiles climbed up into the front seat of the Jeep and tried not to be too annoyed when Derek squeezed in beside him, squishing him in the middle.

"Snow White and the Huntsman?" Derek asked conversationally.

Stiles shrugged, staring out the windshield. "It's one of my favorite movies. I mean, yea, it was absolutely terrible. But it had amazing CGI and Charlize Theron is fucking amazing. Plus I'm mildly in love with Kristen Stewart in a completely bro-crush sort of way."

Derek chuckled but couldn't think of anything else to say.

The ride was bumpy and long, the soldiers talking excitedly about getting to use what they'd learned in the last two weeks. They arrived in a small village that was supposed to be abandoned and everyone jumped out. Derek made a circular motion in the air above his head and then marines were scrambling to secure the perimeter.

Stiles had barely opened his mouth to speak when the gunfire started. It was loud and it hurt Stiles' ears as Derek yanked him into a low crouching position.

"Stay in the Jeep," Derek instructed loudly over the yelling and the noise before running towards the gunfire.

"Yea, right!" Stiles snorted, following behind him quickly.

The supposedly abandoned village had been taken over by a small group of rebels who appeared to be using it as their headquarters. They seemed to just be a ragtag group of about seventy people which outnumbered the marines by about thirty men. Their weapons were mediocre at best but when it came down to it, it didn't matter much. Metal was metal and bullets still hurt when they were ripping into flesh.

Stiles followed behind Derek as they swept the buildings. Most of the rebels they came across had already been killed by the marines before, but as they came into the fifth structure some crazy ass jumped out of the shadows and let off several badly-aimed rounds. Stiles didn't scream when Derek jerked back and fell, instead immediately releasing the rest of his clip into the guy before falling down beside Derek.

"Are you hit anywhere else?" Stiles demanded loudly, already applying pressure to the gunshot wound in Derek's right shoulder.

"Grazed. Left calf," Derek grunted painfully.

"Alright, I'm gonna get you outta here," Stiles told him, trying to ignore the grunts of pain as he lifted Derek's good arm over his shoulder and lifted.

Stiles may be thin but he had good muscle definition. He still worked out seven days a week, lifting weights and going on runs and biking. So he wasn't surprised when Derek was relatively easy to help limp out of the building. Dust clouded the air as Stiles and Derek picked their way slowly around bodies laying on the ground, blood staining the sand an ugly shade of burgundy. 

Another rebel appeared in front of them getting off a round into Stiles' side and one in his arm. The adrenalin allowed him a reprieve from pain as he lifted his bleeding arm to double tap the unknown's chest and put one in his head.

"You're…a good shot," Derek mumbled thickly, "Even with a bum arm and a wounded man in your other."

"Yea, well let's just make sure that we wounded men don't turn into dead men, okay? I've got people waiting for me back home and I didn't sign up for this," Stiles replied, his voice hoarse with all the dust he was inhaling.

"Sounds good to me," Derek agreed and they set off again, finally making it back to the Jeep.

Stiles helped Derek into a seat, collapsing on the floor of the Jeep and picking up a radio. "This is Stilinski to base, there was a surprise waiting for us at the village. Seventy to eighty men opened gunfire against us. Several injured, don't know how many dead. Send medics. We've got this in the bag. Over."

"Base to Stilinski, copy that. Medics are on the way. Over." The crackly voice came back.

Stiles let his eyes slip shut but not before returning his good arm to Derek's shoulder to apply more pressure.

"I told you...to stay...here," Derek tried to growl, but his voice was too strained for it to sound threatening. 

"Shut up and try not to die," Stiles mumbled as the adrenalin ran out and he let the blackness overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advice and constructive criticism is always welcome. 
> 
> Sorry if I got anything wrong in regards to GSWs, the Jeep type vehicles they drive, etc. 
> 
> If you spot something wrong please let me know so I can fix it and make this story better. :) 
> 
> And as promised, Military Time guide: 
> 
> 00:00 - midnight/twelve a.m.  
> 01:00 - one a.m. (oh one hundred hours)  
> 02:00 - two a.m (oh two hundred hours)   
> 03:00 - three a.m. (oh three hundred hours)   
> 04:00 - four a.m. (oh four hundred hours)  
> etc...  
> 12:00 - noon/twelve p.m. ( twelve hundred hours)  
> 13:00 - one p.m. (thirteen hundred hours)   
> 14:00 - two p.m. (etc etc...)  
> 15:00 - three p.m.  
> 16:00 - four p.m.  
> 17:00 - five p.m.  
> 18:00 - six p.m.  
> 19:00 - seven p.m.  
> 20:00 - eight p.m.  
> 21:00 - nine p.m.  
> 22:00 - ten p.m.  
> 23:00 - eleven p.m.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having trouble with posting stories with chapters, so this may become a series until I figure out how to fix it, I'm not sure...
> 
> Also, since this is a military AU I will be using Military time, so for those of you who don't know you can regard the following list that I'll try to remember to attach to each part: 
> 
> 00:00 - midnight/twelve a.m.  
> 01:00 - one a.m.  
> 02:00 - two a.m  
> 03:00 - three a.m.  
> 04:00 - four a.m.  
> etc...  
> 12:00 - noon/twelve p.m.  
> 13:00 - one p.m.  
> 14:00 - two p.m.  
> 15:00 - three p.m.  
> 16:00 - four p.m.  
> 17:00 - five p.m.  
> 18:00 - six p.m.  
> 19:00 - seven p.m.  
> 20:00 - eight p.m.  
> 21:00 - nine p.m.  
> 22:00 - ten p.m.  
> 23:00 - eleven p.m.


End file.
